


For Warmth

by scifiromance



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Crew as Family, F/M, Friendship, Kindness, Romance, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifiromance/pseuds/scifiromance
Summary: It seemed that Chakotay’s warning over relinquishment of Seven’s Ventu blanket had turned out to be prophetic. Well, in a way...C/7. Crew-wide friendship. One-shot.





	For Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Star Trek: Voyager.

“Quarantine?” Chakotay echoed, “Captain…”

Kathryn raised a hand to interject, as the other ran wearily over her face. “Any question you’re about to ask, myself, the Doctor, and our whole Engineering staff have already raised.” With one finger, she pushed a PADD across her desk towards him. “It’s all there in the Ghedonians’ report. We’re at risk of a…” She glanced down at one of the copies of said report, the Ghedonians’ had insisted she have it in triplicate. “…Jidian lice infestation and they recommend certain control measures.”

“Lice?” Chakotay’s dubious frown became a disgusted grimace. He didn’t take up the offered PADD, earning a teasing smirk from Kathryn. “I’ll accept they know what they’re talking about.” He said hurriedly, “But how did we get exposed if their station is clear?”

Kathryn sat back in her chair with a sigh. “You remember Trader Kaji’s selling tactics?”

Chakotay’s heart sank, and his hopes of managing to find a way out of the problem with it. “I guess his ‘free’ samples weren’t so free after all?”

“Crawling.” Kathryn’s resigned good-humour slipped as she shuddered violently. “There’s a reason he stays just outside of the Ghedoni system flogging his wares. According to the Ambassador, we’re the fifth caught out this week.”

“Well, we won’t get caught out again.” Chakotay assured her, “Seven has already blocked the algorithms, and thousands like it, he used to beam his unsolicited samples through our shields.” He smiled briefly as he recalled her words, “Apparently his skills could be more efficiently used, but are impressive.”

Kathryn allowed herself a chuckle, “I presume then, that’s she’s already added them to our Tactical database?”

“Tuvok’s assessing them right now, I should think.” Chakotay looked askance at the PADD once more, and finally picked it up. His eyes widened as he skimmed, “’…voracious appetite for circuitry and warp plasma, exponential reproduction capacity…’” He quoted with increasing dread.

“Our very own Delta Quadrant plague of locusts.” Kathryn declared dryly, “The Doctor is already monitoring the bio-neural gelpacks.”

“We can’t afford to lose anymore of them.” Chakotay agreed seriously, before surprising Kathryn with a bark of a laugh. Catching her curious look, he voiced the wayward thought, “One of those free samples didn’t happen to be cheese?”

“Oh God…” Kathryn groaned out, putting her head in her hands. “Surely cheese couldn’t be the culprit twice in one mission?! How am I supposed to explain that to Starfleet?”

Chakotay chuckled, “Before we put a cheese import ban in place, we’d better get through these control measures.” He read further down the PADD. “’…the most effective method of extermination remains low temperatures and humidity…’” He trailed off as a shiver ran down his spine, followed immediately by another. “How low is low?”

“The environmental systems have been set to lower everything gradually so that it’s not such a shock to our systems…” Kathryn began, watching his frown deepen. “…but the recommendation is to keep the ship at least as low as 32% humidity and 5°C for twelve hours to ensure…”

“…that the lice are exterminated and we’re all pretty damn uncomfortable.” Chakotay couldn’t help but grouse.

“I know you prefer a more…tropical climate.” Kathryn conceded, amused by his reaction. Her cool headed First Officer wasn’t making any effort to hide his aggravation. “But’s it’s really nothing on an Indiana winter…”

“I’m sure.” Chakotay answered, managing a quirk of his lips as he humoured her; Indiana winters had been spent in fully heated, well-maintained homes and modes of transportation for three centuries. But ultimately, she was right, they didn’t have much choice, and this was hardly the worst situation Voyager had been faced with. There was no doubt it would be his job to remind the crew of that until all the lice had frozen off this mortal coil for sure. “The Bolians will enjoy it.” He told her, searching for a bright side and finding one in all the instances Chell had complained about the heat of the Valjean, the Bridge, Engineering, and even the kitchen he could now claim as his own. “But what about the crewmembers whose bodies can’t cope with the cold?”

“After consulting with the Doctor, the Ghedonians have agreed that those vulnerable crewmembers can go over to the station for the duration.” Kathryn assured him, but added the sting in the tail with a slight wince, “After a thorough decontamination procedure, of course.”

“B’Elanna will just love that…” Chakotay muttered with a shake of his head, sorry for the Ghedonians who would have to deal with her as much as for his old friend.

“She was willing to stick it out here.” Kathryn told him, “She’s prepared to stamp on any lice that even think of invading Engineering, but for the sake of the baby, Tom and the Doctor convinced her to go. A word from you might smooth the process though…” She raised her eyebrows, “…to avoid any diplomatic incidents.”

“She’ll have it.” Although he did think Kathryn was doing B’Elanna a disservice, even if only in jest. Impending motherhood had mellowed her, even if she’d deny it. Her role on Voyager had had its part in that too over the years, just as his had with his own outlook and temper. He regarded his Captain, leaning back on his heels as he exhaled, “So…what are your big plans for the impending cold snap of 2378?”

Kathryn’s eyes sparkled as she settled more comfortably in her chair. “Oh, a big mug of coffee, a few big mugs of coffee, and a good book series.” Her smile widened, “It’ll be nice. You can’t feel properly cosy unless you’re shutting cold out.” She rolled her eyes at the face he was pulling, “I’m allowed my moments of whimsy, even as a Captain. What are you going to do?”

Chakotay sighed in resignation, already chilled even though the environmental systems had probably shaved off only a degree or so as yet. “I’ll probably do several rounds of the ship to keep me warm.”

* * *

 

“Apparently there are far more couples aboard than I ever thought…” Seven bit back a sigh and restrained her response to a sidelong unimpressed glance. The Doctor had the grace to clear his throat awkwardly, his photons flaring with a self-conscious flush. “Anyway, you wouldn’t believe how much birth control I’ve had to dole out in anticipation of our little cold snap. You organics and the pull of body heat…” He chuckled to himself, “…but if this keeps up, I’ll need to pull out my obstetrics subroutines…”

Seven arched a graceful eyebrow at him. “You haven’t fully executed said subroutines in regards to B’Elanna Torres?”

The Doctor heaved a dramatic sigh. “Not as fully as I would like. Our Chief Engineer can be a frustrating patient, as you well know, being a regular co-conspirator.” He loaded a hypospray with unnecessary vigour as he turned to her directly, “But even she has agreed to go to the station.”

“Doctor…”

“I’m sure that if I explained your unique case to the Ghedonians, you’d be very welcome. Eminent even, since a little bird told me that there’s a quantum physics conference convening tomorrow. That would give you the chance the Commander’s questionable piloting skills denied you…”

“I’m staying on board Voyager.” Seven cut him off with finality, her hands clenching white around the edge of the biobed. “There is work to be done here, particularly with our infestation having found its way into certain systems…” As if on cue, Sickbay’s lights flickered. “And in any case, I have no particular desire to visit the station.” The Borg had assimilated 108 identical installations.

The Doctor studied her, then laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I understand why you’re apprehensive when we interact with other species, but you shouldn’t feel confined here.”

“I am not.” Seven answered coolly, “But I will remain here on this occasion all the same. Engineering may need direction with B’Elanna necessarily absent.”

“She has her team well-trained…”

“Lieutenant Carey is very much missed.” Seven reminded him quietly.

The Doctor ducked his head. “Of course.” He murmured, with a regretful sigh. Carey’s loss had hit Engineering especially hard of course, and they were still adjusting. “But you know my opinion, your absence could well be considered necessary also. I could easily make that argument with the Captain.”

“But you won’t.”

The Doctor gnawed his lip. “No, I won’t.” He agreed, “But I will definitely give you this particularly potent painkiller cocktail…” With a hiss, the hypospray he pressed to her throat released. The procedure was so routine that he wouldn’t have expected her to flinch, but this time it was visible. The sensitivity induced by the cold was already beginning. “…and remind you not to push yourself too hard. I’m predicting that the efficiency of your implants will drop by 20% at the lowest temperature we’re apparently going to have to go to.” He made an exasperated sound, “How would’ve thought that the Borg aligned their anatomy to temperature to such a degree? It strikes me as inefficient.”

“Because it was perfect.” Seven muttered, then shook her head. “Or they designated it so. And any drones assigned to an imperfect environment are adapted, or selected from drones whose biology is optimal.”

“Perfect…” He snorted, “Quite the propagandists, of course. In reality, a hot, humid environment helps to preserve the delicate balance between biology and technology.” He mirrored her head shake, “Anyway, I don’t think you’ll need to adapt your clothing too much. Your biosuit will be the best under-layer, thanks to my ingenious design, but I still advise you to spend most of this evening tucked up in your alcove.”

“Understood.” Seven slipped off the biobed, her hands folding back to their habitual position behind her back. “I have passed this check?”

“Yes.” The Doctor assured her, “But come straight back if any of the anticipated glitches in your implants become too much, and I want to see you tomorrow as soon as we’ve cleared this quarantine period.”

“0800 hours tomorrow then.” With a quick inclination of her head, Seven swept out the door.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe we had to drop the temp even more!” Ensign Carlson groused, lowering his spoon to rub his hands together, then blowing on them. “Much more of this and we’ll turn into these popsicles!” He laughed, picking up the complimentary cold treat with a wry grimace. “My tongue would stick to this right now!”

“Only a Bolian would think these would be the perfect dessert right now.” Ayala agreed with a laugh as he slurped down a mouthful from his piled spoon, “But I have to say, this ‘Red Alert Chilli’ was a savvy choice, Chell is a shoe-in for the chef post now!” Chell heard that, and from the galley waved at his old comrade appreciatively. Ayala returned the gesture with enthusiasm and added a wink, chuckling to himself.

“Spicy heat is better than nothing.” Nicoletti muttered, though still stirred at her own plate with none of Ayala’s zeal. “And there was something seriously satisfying about watching those damn lice freeze too.”

Seven nodded in full agreement with that statement, pausing midstride en-route to an unoccupied table and glancing up from the report she was reading.

Ayala caught her eye and flashed her a friendly smile. “Hey, Seven.”

“Good evening Lieutenant.” Seven replied after a split-second hesitation. Her surprise was unwarranted, Ayala was consistently pleasant.

“Want to sit with us?” Ayala suggested, remembering not only the stirrings of sympathy he’d felt for the ex-drone right from the beginning, guarding her in the Brig, but Chakotay’s recent concern for her. His _jefe_ had cautiously expressed fears that she was more isolated than she wanted to be, and confided in him his disappointment when she’d drawn back after a few months of responding. Well, he was willing enough to follow Chakotay’s lead.

Seven quickly scanned the other faces around the table. Ensigns Carlson and Bristow both appeared apprehensive, but quickly mellowed their expressions. Nicoletti was already moving her chair over to make room. “Thank you.” She murmured, dipping her head over her own bowl of Chell’s chilli as she took her seat. Her vision wavered, then doubled, for 1.47 seconds, and she wondered if it was emotionally induced, but just as quickly diagnosed an error in her optical array. The cold was truly setting in.

Silence hung over their table as the Mess Hall buzzed around them; besides the appeal of Chell’s meal, replicator usage had been limited to ship components and warm clothing. Ayala once again took the initiative. “So Seven, have you heard how Icheb is enjoying his first away mission?”

“He contacted me when the group successfully reached the station, yes.” Seven confirmed, relaxing as she thought of her charge. “He was immediately impressed by its infrastructure.”

“The infrastructure will be the last thing on his mind, a teenage boy on his first trip away from home…” Bristow chuckled.

“I have Lieutenant Torres’ word that she will supervise him.” Seven replied as she shot Bristow a dryly amused look, “Did you suggest any of these expected activities to him in the Transporter Room, Ensign?”

Bristow flushed red as the others cackled with laughter around him. “No, ma’am!”

“Maybe _he’ll_ need to supervise B’Elanna.” Carlson joked.

“She was chomping at the bit to stay…” Nicoletti argued.

“And if she were here, she’d be begging to leave, believe me.” Ayala broke in, “Her cold intolerance is no joke, take it from someone who’s heard her complain about it often enough, and had his hand warmer stolen…” He laughed, “Seriously though, it’s Chakotay I feel bad for…”

Seven whipped her head to face him quickly enough that she experienced vertigo. Another malfunction. “Chakotay?”

“Yeah.” Ayala confirmed, though he didn’t sound particularly concerned. “If anything, Chakotay hates the cold even more than B’Elanna, but he doesn’t have the Doctor’s note to get out of it.”

“He’s still acclimatised to the tropical climate of his homeworld…” Seven surmised softly.

“His quarters still recreate that, under the usual circumstances. Even on the Valjean, which was too small for it really. We used to joke he was steaming up the viewports. Everybody sheds a few layers visiting him, and Chell would nearly pass out!”

Nicoletti gave a snort of laughter. “Good to know.”

“Yes.” Seven murmured, lost in thought.

* * *

 

Chakotay dumped the PADD on his coffee table and wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his thick hoodie even tighter to his body. Vulcan meditation? What had he been thinking?! He didn’t even know when he’d downloaded this file…or maybe Tuvok had offered it to him as a joke or jibe years ago when they’d been clashing. No, he’d remember that. If he couldn’t master his father’s meditation techniques, or even do them adequately without the help of the _Akoonah_ , how far did he think he’d get with Vulcan methods? That either of them would help him rise above the cold was a pipe dream. The thought of his father’s lessons in preparing for him for vision quests, and so much else besides, an undertaking that was endlessly frustrating for both of them, turned his mood regretful, then even more sour as memories of Dorvan’s heat washed over him. As oppressive as his father’s ideas had seemed to a youngster as stubborn as said father, but almost as missed right now. Another chill ran over him. He exhaled, trying again to filter out the saltiness from his mood, but as his breath puffed in front of him, he laughed humourlessly. Maybe he’d just do a fourth round of the decks…

He got his butt off the couch, but instead of heading back out, he retreated into his bathroom. With a demanding jerk, he turned on the sink, dismissing the thought of lice crawling over the warming water pump with a shudder. Whichever thankless designer had taken on the task of bringing a homely touch to these bathrooms, their choice was questionable. A backlit…pebble display over which the water had to trickle. Perhaps they’d wanted to evoke the soothing effect of a babbling brook, but the result was poor water pressure. Chakotay harrumphed impatiently, then caught himself. Time to get a grip. He’d been cold and bored before. His mother would have called him out on sulking like an old bear with a sore paw. A sigh of pleasure escaped him as he ran his ‘paws’ under the hot water, though he soon had to withdraw as they burned with restored circulation. Damn it, time to replicate gloves…

He jumped, spraying droplets everywhere that would probably freeze, as the doorbell trilled. “¡ _Entra_!” he called casually as he seized a hand towel and dried off. His brows quirked with curiosity as he heard neither the door open nor the bell ring again. In two strides he was out of the bathroom, in a few more he was at the unlocked door, which swished open at his approach.

He caught big, sky blue eyes just as their owner was turning on her heel away from the door. “Seven?” The woman’s cold reddened nostrils flared, and she retreated back a step even as she faced the doorway once more.

Seeing the pucker in his brow, the question in his eyes, crystallised all of the doubts that had been assailing her since she’d rung the doorbell. An absurd notion. An even more fanciful decision, and she already knew where fancy got her where the Commander was concerned. To…pursue a throwaway comment weeks later… She saw, however, that she’d seen good sense too late. The friendly, if bemused, smile pulling at his lips now, the hand ready to reach out to pause her excuses, he’d discover her misjudgement. “Commander, I…”

Chakotay watched her tongue flick over cracked but still luscious lips, then blinked. “Chakotay.” He corrected absently, “What I can I do for you Seven?”

This, a standard question of their interactions, made Seven start, pink starting to bud on her cheeks, but pushed her forward. “Nothing.” She assured him hastily, “But it appears that my keeping this blanket has turned out to be prophetic of sorts…”

Chakotay laughed in surprise as he finally spotted that she had her Ventu gift, the blanket, folded neatly over her left arm. “Uh, yes…” He chuckled again, “…you could say that.”

The sound of his laughter made her already rapid heart rate erratic then, perhaps paradoxically, calmed it. “I do.” She confirmed, surprising herself as she felt a smirk pass over her lips. “But I think, perhaps, you may require it more than I.” Her gaze flickered downwards as she awkwardly thrust the blanket towards him.

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” Chakotay agreed with a wry smile that widened in fond encouragement as he saw her discomfiture. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” He gave her arm an affectionate squeeze as he took the blanket, and felt her shiver as she demurred. With her arms free, they started to curl around her before she caught herself and lowered them stiffly to her side. Guilt prickled him as her residual body heat on the blanket reached him. “So…” he started, “…knowledge of my cold intolerance has made its rounds then?” With a dry laugh, he ran his fingers through his hair.

A small smile passed over her face. “Voyager’s crew are efficient disseminators of information, but I cannot confirm that your…malady is well known.” Humour sparked in her eyes. “Lieutenant Ayala gave me the impression that the Maquis…”

“Oh, _they’re_ well aware…” He cut in, “And of course it was Ayala who made _you_ aware. Security officers shouldn’t be such gossips…”

Seven’s brief shot of confidence was starting to fail her. “I’m sorry if I am embarrassing you with…”

“No.” Chakotay assured her quickly, “Not at all. I’m just planning what I can leak out about Miguel…”

Seven stifled a snort, “Do not involve me…”

“Ah, it won’t be anytime soon, I’m too cold to plan.” He winked at her, and this time she _did_ laugh, under her breath. He echoed her, then glanced back into his quarters, considering. “Right now, my only plan is to have a cup of tea. Come and join me?” Turning back into the dull, chilly quarters, he’d be glad of the company. Any company. And that Seven had sought him out pleased him; that she had remembered that exchange in the Cargo Bay that had stuck him with for other reasons, she’d asked him about a lot more than what to do with the blanket after all, even more so.

There was a long pause before her steps lightly followed him. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Chakotay.” He corrected again, “No ranks in quarters, and especially not over tea.” He was cold enough, without being continually called by rank. Her head bobbed in an obedient nod. He caught a peek of red tipped ears as she smoothed invisible wisps of her golden hair behind them. “Uh…” He looked around, self-aware under her gaze. “…sorry about the mess.”

“It is insignificant.” Seven answered quietly, with the slightest shrug of her shoulders. Truly, it was. Not perfect…but nothing human was. She couldn’t stop herself from studying the room. The Captain regularly rearranged her quarters, would move one of her _objets d’art_ to prominence in the room, then another. New books. Cushions that had been recycled then replicated once more with a new pattern. It was a sign of her insatiable curiosity, perhaps a certain adaptability. Not that the Commander lacked these qualities, but the room had an air of permanence. From the marks she could see on the walls, the artefacts he’d hung had been chosen and displayed early and never been moved. Almost all were Native American in nature, though as jumbled as his bloodline, and a moment’s concentration could’ve brought the correct terms to her mind, but such cold analysis seemed invasive. If he wanted to explain the story behind something, Chakotay would without prompting. There were far more practical PADDs than books on display, their titles unseen. Fewer photographs than the Captain, or even Neelix had, who shared an equally tragic family loss and whose quarters were her only other frame of reference. Private. In the bedroom perhaps, or the memories kept confined to his mind. She remembered herself, and met his waiting gaze. “These quarters, they befit you, Comm…Chakotay.” Her heart twisted in her chest as she recalled the Doctor saying the same about her holodeck quarters. A heartfelt compliment and a hard slap in the face.

He should’ve been surprised by how genuine the remark sounded, Seven had learned platitudes by rote after all, but this was really her speaking, not the author of the Doctor’s etiquette book. He’d been drawn in by her, as if he too was seeing this room with new eyes. She hadn’t skimmed over everything with that efficient, dismissive gaze, nor had she roamed over his personal space with excessive curiosity. Slow, careful, wary even, but interested. “Thanks.” He replied, startled again by the warmth he felt in his own smile. “Neelix always pushed for curtains, but…”

Seven laughed, when caught off guard it had a clear quality. “…you resisted.” She finished. Not just clear, it might even have the capacity to be infectious. Anyway, he joined her easily.

“Valiantly.” He gave her a broad flash of white teeth as his eyes made an affectionate roll. “On our next call, I’m sure he’ll make a point of the cosy effect of curtains…”

“Very likely.” Seven agreed, “However much the effect would be imagined on a space ship.”

“Right, but honestly, I’m ready to try anything right now…” Chakotay groused, only half joking as he rubbed his chilled hands together and stamped his feet before heading for his replicator. “…it’s colder than the Doctor’s morgue in here. How do you like your tea?” He heard a sharp intake of breath, then no response to his question. “Seven?” His glance over his shoulder at her became a bodily turn as he saw her. Her lithe frame had tensed, a bowstring drawn taut and ready to fire, and her eyes had shifted from crystalline blue to flint grey.

“I berated him for that.”

Chakotay was taken aback by the seriousness of this avowal, then just as quickly realised it was an understatement. Seven was economical with her words, for every one she said she thought and felt a thousand more. He didn’t doubt she’d made the Doctor feel the unspoken weight of it. She was protective of the crew, her Collective, he knew that, but to see it extend to anger at him being knocked out for a few hours… It was oddly gratifying. “Oh, believe me, I did too.” He assured her more lightly, “And Tom. He was _not_ happy at his wife being impersonated.”

Seven’s face relaxed a fraction, a wave of amusement coming over her face as the tide of repressed anger went out. Her lips twitched up. “At the impersonation itself, or being tricked by it?”

He grinned wickedly, “What do you think?”

Her eyes reflected his sparkle, but her tone was deadpan. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

Chakotay guffawed, “Come on, what could Tom do to you?”

Seven considered for a second. “He could refuse to pilot any future away missions in which I take part…”

Chakotay threw her a wide-eyed look of hurt. “Seven! You too? You’re going to tease me now?” He snorted, “Although you have more reason than most…”

Seven continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “…or he could make me play Constance Goodheart again. I think I’d rather continue to trust your piloting skills.”

Chakotay was laughing too hard to reply for a good thirty seconds. More than the wit likely deserved but his low mood clung to it, desperate to be buoyed up. “Well…that’s good to know.” He finally choked out.

“Yes.” Seven agreed softly. Her voice still had a touch of dryness, but she was watching him intently as she made a tiny shift from foot to foot. He got the impression of someone who’d wandered too far down a path and was debating whether to swiftly turn back or press on.

He decided to give her a route out. “What did you say on tea?”

“I hadn’t answered you.” She replied, “But beyond a low caffeine content, I don’t have a particular preference.”

“As long as it’s hot, right?” She gave a vigorous nod and his flashed a knowing smile at her. “And _not_ coffee.”

“Don’t tell the…”

“I haven’t yet, and don’t intend to.” He chuckled, “Did you burn your mouth, waiting until she’d turned her back to spit it out?” She didn’t dignify that with an answer. “It’s a lot better with milk and sugar, I promise.” He reached the replicator, “I’m going to take my tea with sugar and a little cinnamon, that sound good to you?”

“It does.” Seven confirmed gladly.

“Okay then. Computer, two large teas, one decaffeinated, with sugar and cinnamon.” The replicator buzzed, materialisation started to flare, and then just as quickly, faded. “Oh, don’t tell me…” He groaned, glowering at the replicator. “Come on, you…” The replicator revived, and the two steaming mugs appeared.

“You converse with your replicator also?”

Chakotay snorted with a tiny grimace. “Maybe I’ve picked a couple of habits from Kathryn, but…” He blew out through his nose, “Or maybe I’m just worried these _pinche_ lice are crawling everywhere, getting into everything…”

“The low temperatures are decimating the spread as intended, but some systems are under stress. The delay was minimal and…” Seven snatched up a tricorder he had lying by the door and joined him to scan the replicator, and its latest bounty. “This replicator’s efficiency is down by 32.1%, but is fully functional. Our beverages are uncontaminated.”

“Let’s get them while they’re still hot then.” He picked up both mugs, relishing the heat that instantly diffused into his hands before he had to relinquish one to Seven. He gave her a second glance as he did so, confused. “Seven, are you…?”

“Shorter?” Seven finished, following direction of his gaze. She held out a booted foot, “I investigated different footwear after Ledos.”

“Oh, when you fell and dropped your tricorder?”

“Yes. That is why I required yours.” Her head dipped uncomfortably, “I apologise for my rudeness at that time. I was under pressure, and I…” She remembered the tricorder in her hand now, and blushed pink, hastily handing it back to him.

Chakotay quickly waved her off.  He started to put a hand on her shoulder, then stopped himself. “It’s okay, Seven. Don’t worry about it. You got us out remember?”

“With your assistance and that of the Ventu.” Seven added quietly, but then saw his face. “But very well, I will not worry about it.” Still, she clicked the tricorder off and set it down carefully.

Chakotay shrugged and cast a jealous glance down at her cosily lined hiker boots. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “You chose the right shoes for today.” He tugged at his thick fleece hoodie, unrepentantly casual. “Starfleet’s claims about the uniform being all-weather are lies.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Seven’s face as she shivered. “As, I’m finding…” She took a grateful sip of her tea, and Chakotay grinned upon hearing her hum of pleasure. “…are the Doctor’s claims about my biosuits.”

Chakotay chuckled as he sat back on the couch. Seven’s biosuits were a lot of things, warm was never something he’d assumed. “To Starfleet and the Doctor then.” He joked dryly, raising his mug.

Seven smiled behind the rim of her own as she took another sip. “Indeed. Though perhaps we should endeavour to correct them…” He laughed once more, and she didn’t chase away the flush of heat that came over her. Still, she hesitated as she watched him really settle on his couch, throwing her blanket over his long legs. Her task, no, her impulsive offer, or excuse, was complete. She should leave. She spotted the active PADDs on his table and froze. “I’ve interrupted your work. I should…”

Chakotay blinked, blindsided by how abruptly her tone could change. How quickly her flight response could kick in. He gripped her elbow to stop her before words came to him. “Oh no, I wasn’t working…” The blush that came over his cheeks deepened as he worried that it could be misconstrued. Although what was more embarrassing, someone assuming he’d been perusing porn (Considering what he’d confiscated from slackers _on duty_ often enough, it wasn’t a stretch) or the truth that he’d been straining over Vulcan meditation…why did he even care what Seven thought? Something of his frantic thoughts must’ve been evident on his face, if not transparent, since most of Seven’s unease had left her face as she watched him. She restrained any curiosity to a quirk of her brow. The ludicrousness of it made laughter bubble, strange and unbidden, up from Chakotay’s chest. He clamped down on it, but found himself answering her unspoken question. “I _might_ have been working, if a certain someone had sent me their report…”

Seven snorted, the roll of her eyes decidedly unsubtle as she suddenly joined him on the couch, reaching over him to claim the PADD. Her glance for permission was only sidelong, and his answer just a sheepish grimace. Leaving her tea beside his on the table, her fingers danced briefly over the screen, “Here is the report I sent you, so the fault is not mine.”

He peeked over her shoulder at the PADD. “It would seem not, Crewman.”

Seven unconsciously leaned closer. “Does this Crewman also need to point out that the temperatures on Vulcan only drop below 20°C at the planet’s two poles?”

“I’m sure any Vulcan needing to visit those would still meditate…” Chakotay argued playfully.

“I’m sure.” Seven agreed with a mischievous smile.

Chakotay sank fully back into the couch with a sigh. “What can I say? I was willing to try anything. Not that it was very likely to ever work…”

“No.” Seven’s own sigh had an air of finality that told him she’d tried it. Probably in more serious circumstances. She caught his concerned glance, though he quickly contained it. “The Vulcans have had hundreds of years of trial and error, and cultural pressure, to perfect the practice. Humans, less so.” Humanity’s culture went in the other direction, emotional expression was essential, or so Tuvok had advised her. He’d been kind, had not actively discouraged her from pursuing control, but had said he felt he may be doing her a disservice to do so.

“Right, but at least we get to complain.” Chakotay said, lightly. “All of the Vulcans decided to stick it out here and won’t say a word…”

Seven’s face lightened again, as he’d hoped it would. “You did not hear Vorik earlier in Engineering…”

Chakotay snickered, “I’m sure all of his complaints were eminently logical.”

“Carefully so.” Seven moved to set the PADD down on the table, her smirk morphing to a pained wince.

“¿ _Qu_ _é pasa_?” Chakotay asked, her hand lowered itself to the table in painful increments, but the PADD was still trapped in her grip.

Seven’s chin tucked into her chest, colour momentarily flooding her suddenly too pale face. “My hand has…locked.” She muttered through gritted teeth. “It will pass…”

“But it hurts?” Chakotay hardly needed to ask the question, he could see it in her face. “Do you need to go to Sickbay?” Her blonde head gave a tiny, but stubborn, shake. Frowning, he reached over and very lightly put his hand over hers. It was cold as ice. “Similar to the issues Rebi and Mezoti had?” Another nod. He bit his lip for a second, then started to gently rub the frozen joints. The PADD was creaking in her grip, and she flushed deeper, but he ignored it, focusing on her hand and trying to coax it out of its spasm, as he’d seen her have to do for the kids too often. “I thought that the kids had these issues because they were out of their maturation chambers before…”

Seven gave a short exhale. “No, that was never the issue.” He was willing to drop it after that, but after a moment she continued. “The process of removing implants does some permanent damage to those which have to remain, resulting in minor…malfunctions such as this.” The breath she’d been holding in her chest rushed out as her hand flexed enough to let the PADD fall to the floor with a dull thud. “Thank you.” She said thickly, “I…I will replicate you a replacement with my rations…”

“Don’t even think about it.” Chakotay cut her off, “ _No importa, no te procupes_.” He glanced down somewhat bitterly down at the rest of PADDs on the table, though his lips kept a wry twist. “Sometimes it feels like they breed like Tribbles.”

Seven matched his expression, though kept her head down as he carefully lifted her hand, still in a half claw, into his lap and continued his ministrations. “Not quite.”

Chakotay methodically and tenderly massaged each finger until he could straighten them, watching her face intently for signs of pain. “I’d suggest an ice pack for this, but today I think the air would do it…”

Seven visibly cringed at the thought, curling even tighter in on herself as shivers started to race through her frame. “ _Nej_.” She ground out, now fighting chattering teeth. “Th…That would be…counterproductive.”

“Oh?” Chakotay quickly handed her a tissue when her nose started to stream, she took it with an embarrassed glance. As he took in her increasingly wretched looks, a suspicion, no, a realisation, dawned. “I take it then…” He began carefully, “…that the Borg don’t prioritise efficiency in the cold?”

“They would adapt as required.” Seven sniffed, scrunching the tissue into a ball and tossing it with perfect aim into his wastepaper basket. “But it is also the case that the vast majority of drones never leave the perfected environment of Borg vessels post-assimilation.” She straightened her quaking back, “But that is irrelevant to me now.” Her tongue ran fretfully over her violet lips, making the hacks that had opening in the corners sting.

Chakotay doubted it, in this and every case, but knew she needed to believe it. Seven’s body had been torn apart and rebuilt twice over, was it any wonder that she was vulnerable? “Voyager is hardly a perfect environment for anybody right now…” He pointed out with a soft snort.

“You have several crewmates who would argue with you; the Bolians, the…”

“We’re not Bolian.” He reminded her. With more intent than subtlety, he began to rearrange the blanket so that it covered both of them. In truth, he would’ve wrapped her in it, but was aware that she’d brought it for him. She’d brought him a blanket while she shivered in her Borg shell… He took her human hand. It was just as cold as the afflicted one, the skin under her nails was blue, bruised with cold. Wasn’t that a sign of freaking hypothermia? He joined the two, rubbing them with new vigour. “Do you want to tell me…” He huffed as much warm breath as he could muster over her skin, “…why you didn’t go to the station?”

“I did not want to.” His stab in the dark had hit then, the Doctor _had_ suggested it. Which meant she was just as badly off as he feared, if not worse. Her tone was defensive, and they were sitting close enough now that he could feel her bracing for a lecture. “I know what I can tolerate Commander, hours on that station would not be included in that.”

Whatever mixture of self-importance and frustration had been bubbling up in Chakotay burst with the reproach in her tone. Who was he to say where she should go? He could see the challenge in her eyes as she sat back against the couch. He was a commanding officer of course, but why should he play that card on her now? Going to the station had been strictly voluntary, advised or not. He sighed ruefully, and on a whim put a mollifying arm around her shoulder. “It might’ve been a bore, but it would’ve been warm…” He teased, catching her lowered eye.

“I…” Seven didn’t quite wriggle away from his grip, he was too warm for that, but she did turn her face away. “I am now seeing the appeal of that.” She admitted, “But Voyager remains preferable.”

“Home is home, even freezing and lice ridden.” Chakotay agreed with a grim laugh.

“The former is supposed to be defeating the latter.” Giving up her pride, and any pretence of being comfortable, Seven burrowed into the blanket and her determined tilt away from him began to reverse. “We will have to persevere.”

Chakotay’s gaze had moved to the replicator, but returned to her. “How likely is it that the replicator will be able to produce anymore warm clothes?”

Seven just shrugged irritably. “The one in the Cargo Bay could only provide my boots without failing. Unfortunately, the source of our infestation was brought there first.”

His eyes swept over her biosuit, now barely visible under the blanket. “That explains a lot. I guess we’ll need to warm you up the old-fashioned way then, before I get it in the ear from the Doctor…”

Seven blanched, “The Doctor wouldn’t blame you for my foolish…”

“Oh, he’d blame us both.” Chakotay countered casually as he rose from the couch, disappearing into his bedroom without waiting for a response. Seven had none. Or at least none that she could voice. The Doctor would blame him, by association, even with the situation being none of his doing. Not the cold. Not her dangerous attraction to him… Chakotay’s reappearance, holding a crumpled sweater, interrupted her guilty thoughts. “So, just how hot does a Borg Cube run?”

“The optimum temperature for a Borg vessel is 39.1°C with 92% humidity.”

He exhaled, “Much as I hate to say it, I think the Collective have the right idea.” He started to hold out the sweater, then changed his mind, tossing it on the table instead. Cold, even damp, from being stuffed at the back of his drawers, it wasn’t exactly inviting. “You know what, let’s do this…”

Seven’s eyes widened as he started to tug his hoodie over his head. “What are you…?” She averted her eyes hastily, even though there was only thermal undershirt to glimpse, not bare chest.

“I’ll change into this one.” Chakotay said easily, shaking out the sweater and quickly pulling it on. As he popped his head through, he glanced at his discarded hoodie, then gave Seven an eyebrow raise worthy of her. “Go on, it’s warmer.”

Seven hesitated, he could see the thoughts flitting behind her clear eyes. With a mutter under her breath, she was suddenly up on shaking legs, decisively yanking it over her head. With such strength that several of the pins fell out of her hair, sending a large section flopping down the side of her face and neck to pool in the furry hood. She puffed out a breath, a sheepish smile playing across the lips as she hugged the warm fabric to her. “It is.” She conceded shyly, tucking a lock behind her ear but giving up on correcting the rest. This was never going to look presentable. But it was too gloriously warm to forsake.

Chakotay grinned at her encouragingly, pleased with himself as he took her in. The sleeves hung over her hands, the body of his hoodie fell over her thighs. It both hid and softened her figure, but somehow highlighted it to him more than the unforgiving biosuits ever could. “Looks better on you than on me.”

Seven’s answer was an almost inaudible snort. “You looked fine.” Realising what she’d just commented on, she dropped back onto the couch like a stone. Her hands gripped the edge of the hoodie. “Thank you for your consideration.” She said formally.

“ _De nada_.” Chakotay replied, the threads of his sweater straining as he shrugged. When was the last time he’d worn…? The gym would warm him up. He dismissed the thought, sitting back down beside her and careful to hide his smirk as Seven unthinkingly burrowed into her blanket. He took big of his tea and choked. “Ugh!” he spluttered in disgust. Some of it had gone down the wrong way and he was left coughing as Seven solicitously patted him on the back and handed him tissues, peering at him worriedly. “Ugh…” He repeated, a laugh escaping between coughs, “Guess I should’ve drank it quicker…”

“Or replicated a teapot.” Seven’s hand stilled on his back as her gaze caught his and sparkled.

Chakotay hooted with laughter. “Would…Would a teapot…and cosy…” He sniggered, “…really help in this cold?” he demanded.

Seven considered for a moment, her lip caught between her white teeth as she giggled. “No.”

“Well then…” Chakotay laughed, sinking back into the couch and stretching his arms out behind them. “We’re stuck.” He sighed heavily, “At least I’ve already got plans to heat up when all this is over…”

Seven allowed herself to rise to the bait, humouring him. “Oh?”

“I’ve got Holodeck 1 booked for tomorrow afternoon, a group of us were going to have a hoverball tournament, but we’ve pushed that back for a Costa Rican beach instead.”

“You’ve decided to favour leisure over exercise?” Seven teased.

“We might play some volleyball…” Chakotay defended, with a chuckle. “Either way, it’ll be fun, and _hot_.”

“Yes, reliably so. A tropical climate, though with multiple microclimates that contribute to its famed biodiversity.” Seven’s thoughtful tone softened what was an encyclopaedic statement.

“The holodeck won’t do it justice…” Chakotay muttered regretfully, “But it’s the best we have.” He curled the arm behind her around her shoulders. “Hey, come with us. It would be fun.” He went through those likely to attend in his head, focusing on those Seven was most familiar with. “Both Delaneys, Nicoletti, Ayala of course, Gerron, Bee and Tom, Harry if Kathryn doesn’t offer him an extra Bridge shift, Tal Celes…”

Seven squirmed in her blankets, but didn’t shrug him off, nor dismiss the idea. She couldn’t face his disappointment, or her own. Instead, she swerved it. “You’ve visited the country?”

“Yeah.” Chakotay confirmed with a nod, “I was dragged around most of Central America as a teen.” This time his laugh lacked humour, “Part of my father’s midlife crisis, studying his ancient forefathers…” Midlife crisis? His conscience prodded him, his wife hadn’t been dead two years, it was escape… “I didn’t appreciate it enough, the area I mean. It’s truly beautiful.”

“I’m certain.” Seven murmured gently, her eyes on him. He gave a slight shiver, suddenly just as certain that she knew what he was thinking of. Maybe she did. His difficult relationship with his father was a fact, and she’d gotten more than a glimpse of it. “But teenagers only appreciate what they want to. I know that Icheb hasn’t hesitated to protest…” She shook her head, smiling ruefully.

“Icheb and I would’ve got on as teens.” Chakotay agreed with a laugh, “Anyone to back me up about the benefits of technology.” He glanced at her, “He wanted to go to the station?”

“Very much.” She was quick to assure him, “The operation of the station, and its people, sparked his curiosity.”

He could see the anxiety fighting to surface on her face, though he also knew she’d have made him go to keep him from this cold. “Another thing natural for a teen. It’s normal he’d take any chance he’d get to leave Voyager for a little while.”

“Of course.” Seven murmured, unconsciously snuggling into him. “I received B’Elanna’s word that she would look after him.”

“Then they’ll both be fine.” He reassured her, “She’s got this, time for her to get some mothering practice anyway.”

Seven snorted. “Icheb would not appreciate being equated with a baby, Chakotay.”

“I’d never!” Chakotay protested, “I’m just saying that, in a few years, Tom and Bee are going to get a fright. I have it on good authority they were nightmare adolescents…”

Seven shook her head. “May Voyager be home long before then, to spare us at least.”

Chakotay snickered, “We can only hope.” Her face was now so close to his that he could smell her shampoo, strawberry, of course. “What were you planning to do, to celebrate the cold snap being over?”

“After I’ve completed my work?” Seven said dubiously, it was doubtful everything that had been thrown into disarray could be fixed within a day, but he was aware of that. “I suppose I…” Her brow furrowed uncertainly, “I would need to assess Hydroponics. The children had developed a garden there and…”

Chakotay wracked his brain for a minute, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, I remember! Mezoti needed certain leaves to support her ant colony.”

Seven beamed at him briefly for remembering, a ray of sun before clouds passed over, in this case a momentary pang of grief. “Yes, but the project began to excite them beyond that. Rebi enjoyed working with the edible plants, Azan and Mezoti preferred more exotic flowers, as would be seen in Costa Rica…” Her reminiscing smile faltered, “I will need to revive it all. The cold will have…”

“Not necessarily.” Chakotay interrupted gently, “The cold was gradual enough that the roots will most likely be intact and healthy. Everything should continue to grow. Might just need a bit more care for a few days is all.” Seeing Seven’s relief made him grateful for his father’s organic farming lectures. “I remember, one trip we went on was especially tedious, I was being eaten alive by bugs and we’d been walking for miles in the densest forest imaginable. Of course, I complained every step…”

“Understandable.” Seven murmured wryly as she snuggled in, pulling the hood around her head. Warm, and it smelled of him…

“I thought so.” Chakotay said with a snort, “Anyway, father and the guide must’ve hatched a plan to shut me up, because the guide was suddenly determined to show me this tree. They called it a Phoenix tree. They called it that because unless you dug up the roots and burned them it would always grow back…”

“Resilient.” Seven commented, approving.

“…and the ants couldn’t make their homes in it because of its sticky sap, so it was a refuge for the animals from the deadly bullet ant colonies…” He chuckled, “Mezoti would’ve liked this story…”

Seven smiled wide. “Very much.”

“They encouraged me to climb one to look at all the amazing creatures at home in this tree and…”

“You got covered in sap?”

“Coated!” Chakotay laughed, “How’d you guess?”

“Such a mishap would make for a memorable story.”

* * *

 

“…and Chell comes running, shouting, ‘B’Elanna! B’Elanna!’ She yells back that she wouldn’t leave the ship unless it burst into flame, and probably not even then because then she’d have some heat…” Chakotay chuckled at the memory, trailing off when he heard Seven sigh, her warm curves pressing tighter to his side. “Seven?” One glance downwards confirmed what the weight on his shoulder and her steadily decreasing rate of reply had already told him to suspect: Seven of Nine was asleep. Soundly. Her shivering had finally stopped, her breathing had a deep, easy rhythm. So, it wasn’t hypothermia. Her lashes kissed the retreating shadows under her eyes. He’d known she could sleep. Laid prone on a biobed, or tensed on a cave floor. But he hadn’t seen relaxed. Peace had been far away in the Ventu’s cave. She’d been crouched beside him, on guard, there, and likely wouldn’t have laid down at all if he hadn’t tugged her down and kept an arm around her. If he hadn’t willingly laid down face to face. Hadn’t protested when she scanned his leg with the obnoxiously chirping tricorder for the sixth time in an hour, or called her out on the anxious gazes over his shoulder at the sleeping Ventu. No, Seven deserved her sleep now.

“ _Vamos, dormilona_ …” He whispered. Wrapping his arm tighter around her back to hold her steady, his hand splaying over her stomach, he started to ease himself off the couch. He had his chair, and other blankets. She could stretch out on the couch for as long as she wanted… A sleepy whine by his ear cut off his thoughts. Her head shifted until it was firmly under his chin, her hair tickling him. Her face turned into his throat, the sigh that breezed through her parted lips bringing goosebumps that were nothing to do with the cold up his neck. Her arm countered his, leaving the blanket cocoon to curl around his waist, her fingers grasping a good handful of his sweater. Chakotay’s soft laugh ruffled her hair as he bent over her ear. “Am I that boring? You can wake up and tell me straight. Although I know that you would…”

Seven just sighed again, with half an incoherent mumble. His smile widened. The impulse to press his lips to the shell of her ear, millimetres away, came over him. His eyes, half closed, snapped open. His fingers hurriedly released the blonde ringlet he’d been absently toying with. He leaned back, though was careful not to jostle her. What was he doing? Holding a beautiful woman, a sarcastic inner voice responded, it’s natural enough. He shook himself guiltily, but his gaze quickly drifted back to Seven. She looked so peaceful… His suppressed sigh became a yawn. His muscles relaxed, any niggling thoughts drifting to the back of his mind. With a sleepy grunt, he gave up the ghost, pulling at the blanket until it covered them both fully. Ten minutes wouldn’t do any harm…

* * *

 

Chakotay groaned, one eye opening in a slit, half expecting to see Jack Frost blowing a malicious raspberry of cold air right in his face…but it was just the air vents above him.

Seven stirred, her own eyes directing the same resentful scowl at the phantom of cold before she turned her face back into the warmth. Her body jerked as she felt the heartbeat underneath such warmth. A moment delay, but her scramble upright was still ineffectual, drowsy, her eyes now blinking owlishly in confusion. “How long was I….?” She inhaled sharply, “…84 minutes.”

Chakotay hooked an elbow on the armrest to reluctantly lever himself up; not easy when Seven still lay along most of the length of him. “Sounds about right.” He offered her an awkward half smile.

Seven shook her head absently, her hair falling like a curtain over her face and her eyes still blinking in bleary disbelief. She was unaccustomed to waking from sleep, associated it with illness. She had to drag the awareness back to her mind that was instantaneous upon completing regeneration. “My internal chronometer is correct.” She muttered in automatic response. Her face, already reddened by her sleeping position, was now flooded with a blush, rendered brighter by its delayed arrival. “Förlåt…” She grimaced, cursing her stuttering brain. “I apologise, Commander…”

“Chakotay.” He corrected, unwilling to have her backslide as he physically steadied her on the couch. “And it’s fine. You’re tired, we both are, and so we…uh…” He chewed his lip as he tried to shrug, “…slept.”

“I am tired.” Seven admitted softly, gaze firmly down. It was the simplest, the easiest, explanation.

Chakotay gave a dry chuckle as he glanced anywhere but at her, and shivered, missing her immediate warmth. “Maybe we should’ve stayed asleep.” He muttered, rubbing his arms vigorously. “It’s still freezing in here!”

Seven’s laugh started as a nervous reflex but soon genuinely bubbled up. He just sounded so _aggrieved_ , with his lip curled in disgust like a little boy’s. “Yes, it is.”

Chakotay poked her in the side, feigning offence even as he laughed. “Hey, I know I’m a wimp about the cold, _you_ know that or else you wouldn’t be here, but this is just… _rid_ _ículo_! This whole situation, Voyager turned into an iceberg because of a few _pinche piojo_ …”

Seven couldn’t help but smirk at his continued grousing, even as she awkwardly tidied his couch. “ _Muy rid_ _ículo_.” She agreed placatingly. Then she swallowed. This whole situation was ridiculous. A folly she’d brought to fruition despite realising what it was. Of course, she’d only intended to hand over the blanket and leave, not…nap. It didn’t matter that her failsafe wasn’t threatening to trigger, that counterintuitive to the Collective’s measures she felt better…it was still inappropriate. She stood up abruptly, through was so tangled in the blanket that it wasn’t quite the dignified rise she would’ve wanted. “I should go.”

Chakotay’s mouth started to open in protest as their hands met to free her from the blanket. As he tried not to jump at the contact, he realised there was nothing he could say. Nothing that would hit the right note anyway. “Yeah…” He ran a hand over his face, “…I should probably go and check things over.” Seven nodded briskly and he could see her about to take the step over the threshold into work, closing the door on…whatever this was. He grasped her arm, “Come join me…us, in Costa Rica tomorrow. 1630 hours. It’ll be fun. Sun, sea, hammocks to relax in. And I know someone is going to suggest eating out of those big palm fronds…” Seven couldn’t quite suppress an amused snort and he grinned at her, injected with confidence. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” Seven answered simply, with her usual bird like nod and a rarer shy smile, her gaze on his easy one. “It does.”

“Then come with us.” Chakotay pressed gently.

Seven hesitated, her hands unconsciously twisting as she held his gaze. “It would not be an…imposition?”

Chakotay stood up, but stopped himself from reaching out to her. “No, it wouldn’t.”

Seven pressed her lips together, they were turning blue again with the cold he noticed, as her gaze turned inward. Then a decisive nod. “Then I will attend.” She swallowed again, “1630 hours tomorrow.”

He beamed as he matched her nod. “It’s a date!” He felt like he’d just run into a wall as Seven’s eyes, wide with surprise, riveted on him. Reflecting his own. He hadn’t meant it that way, had he? Would it be so bad if he did? No. He could see the uncertainty written plain on Seven’s face, but also temptation, even hope and desire. Much like he’d known she wanted to go to Costa Rica, she…wanted this. Or part of her did. He’d just caught his own curveball, because he did too. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Seven confirmed somewhat dazedly. Forcing her eyes away from his, searching for a distraction, she realised she was still wearing his hoodie. “You need this back…”

Chakotay quickly stopped her as she started to pull it over her head. “No, you keep that for now. I’ll…get it back tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Seven assured him, quite relieved as she righted the hoodie around her, not to have to relinquish its warmth.

Just like that, she turned to leave. Chakotay blinked, caught out by her swiftness. “Wait…” He gathered up the blanket, “Remember this?”

“My offer to you still stands.” Seven reminded him with a small smile, cutting him off when he opened his mouth to protest. “It is an awkward way to keep warm standing in my alcove.” She pointed out with a slight shrug.

Chakotay had to concede that. “I guess we’ll swap back tomorrow then.”

Seven, again heading out his door, glanced back at him. “An acceptable plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: Please review!  
> Translations  
> Chakotay (All Spanish)  
> ¡Entra! Come in!  
> ¿Qué pasa? What’s wrong?  
> No importa, no te procupes. It doesn’t matter, don’t worry.  
> De nada. You’re welcome  
> Vamos, dormilona… Let’s go, sleepy head   
> Ridículo Ridiculous  
> Pinche piojo *expletive* lice  
> Seven (Swedish and Spanish)  
> Nej. No  
> Förlåt. Sorry.  
> Muy ridículo Very ridiculous


End file.
